The Queen of the Golden River
by slipshod
Summary: A prince, a girl, a ball...and yet somehow, it doesn't turn out happily. Oneshot.


Ok. This is a oneshot that has NOTHING to do with the actual fairy tale, the King of the Golden River, sorry if you feel misled. Basically: Prince meets mysterious girl at ball, interesting events ensue. Enjoy.

* * *

He was watching the girl in the yellow gown.

It was clear from the style of dress that she was not a noble of Liste. It was also clear from the mask, which was plain and white, with only a few golden specks around the edges.

The girl in the yellow dress was on her third glass of wine and was holding up magnificently, as Listel wine was not a light drink. Killian watched in a mixture of admiration and envy as she devoured yet another pâté thingy that Luc always insisted on serving. He would have loved a pâté or five, but it was not seemly for a prince to eat his own refreshments.

A squire approached her boldly, asking for a dance. Killian watched in envy as she turned him down and poured herself another glass of wine. Killian was required to dance with any one who asked. It was protocol. Fortunately for him, it wasn't considered proper for a woman to ask a man to dance. Unfortunately for him, the women who did ask were usually undeterred by what was considered proper and headed straight to the marriage proposal. Killian had to -_politely_- reject all marriage proposals as coolly as possible. Again, protocol.

"I cannot help but speculate why she hasn't removed the mask," Alaea said lightly, slipping into place beside him. "Perhaps she's deformed. She didn't even take it off for Luc, you know."

He did know. He had been standing dutifully behind his brother when the girl came through the greeting line, and Luc, the ever confident third-in-line to the throne had been so shocked at the breach of protocol that he barely stammered out a proper introduction. Killian had liked her immediately. "Perhaps she enjoys the mystery."

"I wonder what she was thinking, wearing that wig," Alaea said lightly, in the tone she used to reveal her disapproval.

"Wig?"

"Of course. Her skin's too fair for that to be her real hair. Unless she had it dyed, it's a wig. Charming, of course, but I wonder how well she could pull it off without the mask?" Alaea said. Killian looked closely at the light brown curls and felt a wave of disgust. A wig and a mask and a yellow gown. Why were women such minxes, always hiding in a new disguise?

The girl in the yellow gown belched loudly, clearing a small space around her as the ladies drew back in shock.

Alaea was no longer paying attention, or no doubt she would have been shocked as well. The prince turned away from his sister and headed down the marble stairs, toward the place where the girl was standing.

"Good evening." He greeted her cordially, bowing slightly. She had seemed taller, somehow, from where had stood before- up close, she barely reached his shoulder, when you subtracted the towering pile of hair. But then, he was well over six feet.

She smirked at him. Or rather, her lips smirked at him. He couldn't really see what the rest of her face was doing. "Good evening, Prince. Have you enjoyed the show?"

Killian was sincerely confused. "I beg your-"

"I've been watching you," she said easily, "watching me. And I can't say I blame you, because out of all the wolves here," she gestured widely and received several miffed stares from the women in earshot, "I find myself the most entertaining lamb by far."

He peered at her for a long moment, but she didn't look drunk at all. If Killian hadn't known for a fact she was on her fourth glass of the strongest wine in six leagues, he would've thought she was completely sober. But who spoke that way sober?

"Have you a name?" Killian asked politely, running a hand through his dark curly hair.

"Be rather odd if I didn't, now wouldn't it?" she looked over his shoulder, clearly bored.

Killian was slightly disconcerted. No one got bored talking to the Prince of Liste. "Well…may I ask what it is?"

"I've a lot of names," she said evasively, nodding politely to a duke that saluted her.

Killian changed tack. "Where is your home?"

Finally, the mask turned toward him, and through it a pair of bright black eyes fixed on him. "I'm something of a nomad. Traveled in a troupe for a long time."

"What did you do?"

"Guess."

"Danced? Tumbled?"

"Some. Sang, mostly."

"I love music!"

"You and the rest of the population of the world. It's the language everyone speaks."

"You're rather rude."

"Forgive me, my prince," she said, sweeping a curtsy so deep that he found himself bowing automatically in response. "Would you like to hear a song?"

"I would very much like that; but here and now?"

"Of course not. I will sing for them all, later, and I suppose you might stay for that. If I'm not mistaken, two of your brothers are attending."

Ah. She was one of the performers. That made more sense.

"But then," she continued, her eyes skimming over him, "perhaps not."

Killian frowned. "Why?"

"Because soon, princeling, I'm going to do something you're not going to like very much at all."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

She shrugged, a coarse gesture he had never seen a woman use before. "I'm afraid you'll wish you had. Have some wine, Killian."

Killian, shocked at the familiar usage, took the glass without a second thought. "Tell me your name, please."

"Which one?"

"The one you like the best, I suppose."

"I suppose that would be Tanith."

"Tanith," he said, the unfamiliar sound rolling strange on his tongue, "Tanith. Of?"

"Dyad," she said, naming a fair-sized province far to the west.

"I've never been," he said politely, "what's it like?"

"What's it matter?"

Well. If she could be rude and abrupt, so could he. "Why don't you take off your mask?"

_This _smile was pure, solid ice. "Why don't you put yours back on?"

"I…" Killian drank the wine quickly to cover his lack of a response. _Stupid_, Alaea's voice said in his head. He scowled.

"Have another?"

Killian was not used to anything stronger than milk, and he knew it. "No, thank you."

"I thought not."

Was she- was she _taunting_ him?

Killian stared into the eye-holes of the mask defiantly and took a second glass of wine.

Twenty minutes later Killian was staring grimly at Luc, who was sweeping his way around the floor with a duchess looking as graceful and shellacked as always. Killian never could figure out how his brother managed to get his hair to be so _firm_, as opposed to Killian's thatch of dark curls, which- there was no other word for it- _flopped_.

"The floppy prince," he muttered dejectedly, draining the remainder of his wine. "Floppy, floppy, floppy…"

"Do you realize," Tanith said lightly, "that you're talking?"

He gave her a blank look, and it came into his head that he could save face by distracting her. He thought for a moment, and came up with: "My, your eyes are quite…black."

"Mmm." She smiled a little, and looked up. "You're drunk."

"Am I?" He asked mildly, wondering why he didn't feel sick. "Darin always gets sick…"

"Slightly," she said, "and no doubt for the first time."

"And _you're_ drunk," he said in a tone that would have been argumentative, had there been any cause to argue.

The lips, which he was beginning to think of as separate from the rest of her, curled upward in something like a grin. "Not even close, princeling. Would shock you out of your silken knickers if you knew the depth of my tolerance for this stuff. You know, you really ought to sit down."

She nodded toward one of the more secluded marble benches and Killian allowed himself to be prodded in that direction. A lady stepped in his path, tiered in pink and sparkling like diamonds, but he didn't manage anything more than a nod in her direction.

Killian went to the bench and sat down, rather faster than he meant to. The girl- Tanith? The girl in the yellow gown was still with him, trailing a finger around the marble column.

"So tell me, Killian," she said softly, circling him, "what is it like to be a prince with no chance to rule? Six elder brothers and a horribly robust father must take a certain tax on one's hopes of world domination."

"Oh, you know, it's not so bad," he said airily, "I don't really want to be king anyhow, I think I'd rather have some more wine-"

"Sorry, they're all out."

"That's a damned lie," he snapped, and was shocked to hear her giggle. "I demand…that you should not laugh!" He slumped against the wall. "I am the prince!"

"And I'm the queen of the Golden River," she said dryly, and it suddenly occurred to Killian that everything was very, very amusing.

Amusing. Musing. Yes, it was very amusing, wasn't it? How they all flocked like carrion to see the royals dip and whirl and swing and shine, how they all came for Luc, who was shiny and brilliant, how they all looked at him like they were hungry and he was made of…of sausage, or something…

And all they ever wanted was to marry a prince.

Minxes. Killian sat up straight and glared at the girl in the yellow gown. "What are you here for? I can't marry _you._"

The lips twisted in an exceedingly mocking sort of way. "Fair enough, I suppose, as I don't recall asking for your hand."

"_Some_ princes can do it. I heard of a prince once who married a peasant girl he met at a _ball_, and they had a _shoe_, and lived happily every _after_."

"Right. Till three moons later when she broke out in warts between the legs and he decided he preferred the company of men anyhow."

Killian turned slowly toward her, wondering if his head was going to roll too far and fall.

"Are you pretty?" He heard himself say, only slurring one of the words, "Under there?"

The lips smirked at him. "As men see it, yes. I am pretty."

"Show me?"

"No, princeling."

"Help me up?"

"I think you'd better stay here for another moment or so."

Killian sneered at her. Telling him what to do. He'd tell her! He'd…

"Go away," he said vaguely.

The lips split into a real smile this time, and said, "I like you. You're entertaining, in a morose sort of way."

Killian realized suddenly that he was tired, so tired. "I think I'd like to rest for a bit."

"Then rest," she said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. So Killian closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

* * *

The first thing he noticed upon opening his eyes was that half of the guests were gone. The second was that his head was clear, and it hurt. "Oh, _no_…"

Someone behind him snorted. Killian burned with embarrassment at the realization that she was still with him.

"I'm…I apologize for behaving so boorishly."

"Boorishly? You were half a step away from prim most of the time. But I am glad your head is clearing."

"Thank you for staying with me."

She flipped a hand upward in a gesture of dismissal. "You're the most interesting person I've met tonight."

"No doubt." He ran a hand down his face and paused at the feeling of cold fingers against his chin. He touched his hair. It flopped.

He smiled at her then, suddenly grateful that she was there, and silent. "When are you going to sing?"

"Momentarily. Staying for it?"

"Of course." Killian cleared his throat a little and tried to convince himself that what he was about to say was merely a residual effect of the alcohol. "Tanith? How long will you be...staying in Liste?"

"I leave tonight," she said shortly, and Killian blushed furiously. _Stupid._

"Oh."

She turned to him and opened her mouth to say something, and then someone was announcing that it was time for Lady Something of Somewhere to perform for their Majesties, and he knew they meant Tanith. He was pretty sure that she wasn't Lady Anything of Anywhere, but he certainly wasn't about to announce that. Killian grinned, really grinned, for the first time that night. She grinned back at him and he watched as she walked away.

A space cleared in the center of the floor where a few remaining couples had been dancing.

She walked to the center of the space and stood, straight-backed and perfectly calm, as far as he could tell. There was a wave of whispers among the rustling of silk, and Killian had no doubt they were speculating on the mask. He turned and looked at the crowd of faces, every one of them bared.

He waited for the musicians to begin, and was shocked when she began a cappella, so shocked that he didn't even register the words. But that _voice_…that voice rang out so clear and fine and Killian, who was facing the crowd, barely recognized that all those faces changed as one into masks of perfect, utter bliss.

It was like magic.

_Once there was a river, beautiful and clean,_

_A perfect golden river, of which I was the queen,_

_Queen of the golden river,_

_And my love was the king,_

_But love is a bird with a blood-red tail,_

_And blood is a fickle thing._

He tried to cry out but his tongue was slick with love and would not have broken that perfect melody for anything.

Killian turned to face her, to face the origin of that beauty, and found that he did not want to watch the girl in the yellow gown, but to look up, up, up-

He stretched his arms out toward the music as if to embrace it, and it swirled around him like gentle snow. He could see the people around him, but they were blurred: it was the music, golden and wraith-like and beautiful beyond the lot of mortals, approaching, caressing, abiding over them all… he could see it as it wafted out of her mouth, her throat…oh, a thousand blessings upon that throat, to conjure something so beautiful, so _pure-_

Someone beside him gave a little gasp and fell, and he stepped over the fallen body to be closer to that glorious sound. His foot slipped in something wet and dark and thick, and for a split second the scent of blood cleared his mind a little and a single wisp of a thought burrowed through: _treason_…

But he would have given a thousand lives, if only she would not stop. Half the kingdom and more.

_Anything_.

It was so beautiful he barely felt the blade slide between his ribs.

It came hard and fast and cold, it came obvious and bright, it came so quickly that he was already in the air, already down, already the cool marble pressed against his back, tried to push him upwards but he didn't _want _that…

_Golden bird with a blood-red tail, will you be my darling?_

They moved through the crowd like dancers, rhythmic and measured. Step, turn, in-and out, a body falling like a leaf. Leaves. Leaves; falling, rising, caught in the wind, bright in the sunlight, carried by a song so kind it could not be of this earth- it made everything graceful, that voice. Everything was exactly as it should be. Killian smiled and smiled and tried to bring his hands up to his chest but they slipped in the blood and slid gently back down to the floor.

He could not seem to move.

But it didn't _matter_.

And then- then, oh, then- then someone, some horrible thrice-cursed person _screamed. _The song stopped mid-word and the spell broke and the world ended.

Killian felt a rush of panic flood him, carrying the blood from his body, assassins magic Luc Alaea Darin _Father _blood blood blood _Mother _dying no no _no_! And the pain caught him and Killian opened his mouth and began to scream, screamed for someone, anyone-

And then she was there beside him, the hem of her dress soaking up the blood, his blood, and a soft, cool hand on his forehead-

"I'm sorry, princeling," she sang softly, "I will ease your passing, listen: _once there was a river, beautiful and clean, a perfect golden river, of which I was the queen_…"

And as quickly as it had filled with screams of terror and panic and rage, the hall fell silent.

And Killian, lying prone in a puddle of his own blood, felt himself entering the music, sliding right into that deathly beautiful voice, and he laughed as he slid down, down, down into the light...


End file.
